


Bonan Iaren Prequel: The Fugue

by Celineth



Series: Bonan Iaren Trilogy [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amnesia, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Fugue, Glorfindel is barely used, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Non-Explicit, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, he deserves love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-13 11:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celineth/pseuds/Celineth
Summary: When an injured elleth is discovered by the future Ring-bearer and his companion on the outskirts of the Shire, she is taken to Imladris for proper healing. Unfortunately, there are deeper hurts than what lie on the outside; struggling to remember her identity and her past, Thuinel wanders and begs for answers throughout the War of the Ring, all while a deadly Shadow threatens to tear her wounded mind apart.





	1. Prologue: A Curious Encounter

“ _It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you'll be swept off to...”_

These were the words imparted so long ago to the black curly-haired hobbit Frodo, nestled in the crook of a large poplar tree. He was smoking a pipe, ruminating and contemplating the sinister thoughts whirling around in his mind. He was far from at ease; the poor halfling had been, only days ago, subjected to a task far beyond his skill. He had known only so much in his previous life; in his youth, he was merely a rascal and a pest of Buckland, paired with a few of his beloved childhood friends, namely his two troublesome cousins. As he pondered, he remembered his innumerable misadventures into Farmer Maggot's property. He remembered his father and mother fondly; the memories of their deaths by the Brandywine River always brought tears to his eyes. He remembered his adoption by Bilbo Baggins, a well-off elderly hobbit of Bag End. Bilbo raised Frodo through his coming-of-age, teaching him Elvish which the former learned on his journeys.

It seemed as though it were only yesterday that the meager responsibility of Bag End's new master and the perilous responsibility of the One Ring both fell onto his small shoulders, despite they both had occurred more than a decade ago. His uncle had left for an Elf-haven to the East, which to Frodo's knowledge, was called Rivendell by most common-folk. Frodo knew the journey was inevitable; his uncle had grown weary day-by-day for the sixty years during which the Ring was in his possession, and the final call for adventure reached its full height at the day of his 111 th birthday.

An old, forgotten friend assigned him the task of taking the power-hungry artifact to Rivendell just a few days ago, years since his last visit, where more powerful, capable hands could decide properly its fate. Less officially, Frodo's companion, a hobbit of wider yet tougher stature and beige-colored hair, was also assigned this mortal undertaking. Samwise Gamgee, a loyal friend unto the end, accompanied Frodo everywhere his master went, never faltering.

Frodo felt he was entering a new life, making a transition from the known and comfortable to the unknown and perilous, and it all overwhelmed him. However, well-wishing thoughts to Uncle Bilbo and affectionate thoughts of Sam tempered with the baneful ones and calmed them, allowing the overwhelmed halfling a breath of fresh air, however temporary.

Something beautiful made those lighter thoughts more permanent. Something within the physical world of Arda. It made him come to life. He sat up from his perch, and looked around him for the source of an unnaturally exquisite song.

“Sam!” Frodo alerted.

“Eh?” Sam turned to his best friend, also studying the intricate sounds.

“Wood-elves!” the former remarked, recognizing the familiar language and grace of tone.

Within seconds, the hobbits were up upon their tough-soled feet, scampering through the brush to find the song's source. They suspected elves, and this was indeed true. A line of white-garmented elvestrekked carefully through the woods, singing their entrancing, melodic tune. The wood-elves' movements seemed to follow their rhythm of song; the movements were tuned into their chorus to maintain perfect harmony. The phenomenon overwhelmed the miniscule halflings looking upon them in awe. 

“They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers,” Frodo informed softly and sorrowfully, “To the Gray Havens...”

Sam hung his head sadly. “They're leaving Middle-Earth...”

“Never to return...” Frodo agreed.

“I don't know why,” Sam choked after a long pause, “It makes me sad.”

“The elves have been fading for a long time,” Frodo explained, shutting his eyes as if mourning the death of someone near and dear to his heart, “They long for the call of the West.”

“It doesn't bring me much comfort,” Sam admitted with a sigh.

The two sat in heavy silence for a few moments until the once beautiful song, now laced with the reminders of Arda's deciding fate, faded into nothingness. This was when Frodo made the decision the two halflings should retire, and Sam readily agreed.

~o~

“Everywhere I lie, there's a dirty gray root sticking into my back,” Sam complained, tossing and turning in his makeshift bed. The two were back at their camping spot for the night, and Sam, though tough and resilient, could not understand the sacrifices made in an adventure.

Frodo, eyes still shut, smiled slightly and muttered, “Just shut your eyes, and imagine you're back in your own bed, with a soft mattress and a fluffy feather pillow.”

“It's not worth it, Mr. Frodo,” Sam continued with hesitation, “I'll never be able to sleep out here.”

“Me neither, Sam,” Frodo conceded with a sigh, still smiling.

The two were on the verge of sleep, when another disturbance echoed through the night. This time, it was a far cry from the beautiful, seductive song of the elves. It entailed more of a shrill scream. It caused the two hobbits sudden jolts, and acting on instinct, they raced towards the sound of the noise. One would have expected an average hobbit to turn and flee, but with the song of otherworldly courage frozen like runes into the two halflings' hearts, they did the opposite instead. It was an action that defied the myths of the Big-folk.

It took just a few seconds for the hobbits to reach the supposed location of the noise, but there was no creature as they expected, at least not one hiding in plain sight.

“Let's scout the area,” Frodo suggested.

Sam only nodded anxiously. They both searched, fighting various thorns and other obstructions as thoroughly as possible. Neither knew how much time had passed before Sam toppled over something. When he gathered himself, he took a closer look, and hidden within a copse of thick brush was the body of a thin, lean woman. 

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam called urgently, “I found someone!”

“What?” Frodo responded quickly, sprinting to the weary hobbit staring at some brush.

“Look, there's a woman here,” Sam explained. He moved the brush apart to prove it.

Both stared down curiously at the fallen damsel. She had long, naturally straight, dark brown hair hopelessly tangled by burrs, twigs, and leaves. It covered her down to her upper back, which ended with torn, rudimentary leather armor and an empty satchel which must have contained the arrows to a bow. But nothing on this body stood out more than the nasty head injury sustained by whatever struck her. The back of her head was heavily bruised from trauma, and scarlet red blood oozed from the wound. It didn't appear fatal to the halflings' small minds, which gave them slight comfort.

Frodo and Sam decisively pulled her from the brush so they could see the poor woman more clearly. Only after they did so were they in the right position to awaken her.

“Is this a good idea?” Sam whispered to his friend.

“Hush, Sam,” Frodo chided, “She was hurt. And she doesn't look dangerous.”

Sam let his master make the decisions from then on, trusting his friend's judgment however reluctantly.

“My lady?” Frodo gently probed, “Are you alright?”

The woman did not respond; Frodo noted she was still breathing, though shakily, so she was just unconscious. However, the halfling had little knowledge of bodily ailments. As a result, his next few attempts were anything but successful.

“You could try poking her with a stick,” Sam proposed anxiously.

“What good will come of that?” Frodo asked in exasperation.

“It's only an idea, Mr. Frodo,” Sam answered with chronic shudders.

Once again, Frodo conceded to his friend, and he grabbed a nearby stick to gently poke at the woman's side, uttering the same words he did before.

He didn't know by what miracle allowed the woman to finally wake; at first, her slow, undead-like movements startled them and made them rush backwards away from her. Her dirtied and scarred face showed her confusion and delirium as a result of her being unsconscious. She groaned and as she lifted herself weakly from the ground, she grasped the back of her head where her injury was sustained.

The hobbits waited warily for the woman to respond to their presence. When she turned to face them, she looked more addled than before.

“Hello?” Frodo whispered soothingly, approaching the damsel, “My lady, are you alright?”

“ _ Man ci _ ?” she coughed out her response weakly, as though she were barely clinging to life.

“She speaks Elvish?” Sam asked, his turn to be confused, “What is she saying?”

“I don't know much Elvish, but...” Frodo muttered, trying to remember the lessons Bilbo taught him, “...I think she wants to know who we are.”

When Sam didn't say a word, Frodo added, “ _ Mea perian.” _

“ _Perian_...?” the woman trailed off weakly, continuing to cough.

“ _Athon,”_ Frodo confirmed, nodding. 

“Ask her if she speaks Westron,” Sam insisted.

“Wait,” Frodo commanded. He turned back to the woman, and asked, “ _Man in eneth lin?”_

Clear to them now she was an elf from her exposed ears and her language, she groaned more and put her hand to her forehead as if trying to think, but nothing came of it.

“ _U-aniron abgin.”_

An impatient Sam asked, “What is she saying?”

“She doesn't know her name.”

 


	2. Chapter 1: The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The halflings attempt to bring solace to the distressed elf, but she is in too much agony and confusion to understand what's happened to her. Come nightfall, sleep refuses to bring her peace, and she is so startled she is unsure of who or what to trust. But her injury leaves her with few options...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be a little fast-paced! I wanted to get a jump-start on the action! :)

It might have taken hours, perhaps only minutes to become mentally coherent; the poor elleth had not grasped the passage of time since she awoke. Even after completely regaining her consciousness, she was still very confused. Everything around her seemed indistinct when she first woke; it had taken some time for her to realize her saviors were two halflings. This discovery astonished her, as halflings were not known to stray beyond the bounds of the Shire. Some travelled to Bree-land on occaison, but even those individuals were few and far between.  
However, her mind was not focused on who her rescuers were or were not. Rather, her mind had seemed to wrap in and around itself in an ignorant coil since she had awoken. Who was she? Where was she? Did she know these hobbits? If so, who exactly were they? She was in mental anguish from trying to understand what had happened to her. She even took to looking at and feeling herself, her hands, her legs, her head, to grasp the idea she existed. Was she real? Was she “her”? All these questions whirled in her brain. She was also aware the hobbits were staring at her like she was a deranged animal, and the realization made her uncomfortable.   
“What is she doing?” one hobbit asked in a deep accent, thoroughly bemused by her strange behavior. When the elleth turned her head to glare at his direction defensively, she realized she had not had the opportunity to study her visitors carefully. The hobbit who had spoken was a shorter, stouter hobbit, shorter than average, and he was quite wide, presumably from stuffing himself as most halflings were privy to do. He had beige curly hair matted with dirt and twigs. His companion, a second hobbit who was thinner in stature, talller, and had black curly hair, was tending to a campfire in the middle of a forest clearing. From her examination, it looked like the hobbits had been travelling for no more than a couple of days. Their clothes, though essenially rags of clothing, a far cry from the hobbits' typically upscale ways of dress, barely contained any dirt, grime, or stains, and the halflings themselves held no scars or bruises. Yet, they looked weary from fatigue and their backpacks, which probably once contained plenty of rations, were almost running dry. The elleth would have scoffed at their naivete` just for this reason, but these hobbits had pulled her from her unconscious state and that was fairly admirable, so politeness mattered.   
When the black-haired hobbit had finished tending to their campfire, he slumped back into a sitting position and turned his head towards the elleth. His disagreeable stare turned into a look of sympathy. “Miss, are you faring better?” he asked softly and kindly.   
Better could have been further from the truth, but the elleth did not want to scare the halflings with her crazed thoughts. “Yes,” she answered simply.   
“Why is she speaking Westron now?” the other hobbit asked, bewildered, “She was speaking Elvish when she woke.”  
“Sam, hush,” the black-haired hobbit chastised him, “She was delirious, let her have a little breathing room. The last thing she needs is to be interrogated.”  
“I still can't believe we've found an elf...” the halfling evidently named Sam seemed to mutter, “She's not what I expected her to be...”   
The elleth raised her brow at him. He was not too polite for a hobbit.   
“Never mind him,” the black-haired hobbit assured, “He isn't usually like that, we just can't believe we found you, an elf, and under such queer circumstances!”   
“I suppose I'm flattered,” the elleth answered, slurring her words, still heavily disoriented.   
The black-haired hobbit looked down guiltily; he had picked up on her disorientedness. “Oh I'm sorry, I forgot you're still recovering. Do you need rest?”  
The elleth was not sure she would find peace in her sleep; she had a feeling her disturbing thoughts would carry her into her dreams. The thoughts led her to feel a throbbing sensation in the back of her head, so sharp, almost as sharp as a First Age blade piercing her skull, rage terribly. She winced and gripped her head, gritting her teeth in anguish.   
“Oh mercy me!” the pale hobbit exclaimed.  
“My lady, you need rest,” the black-haired halfling urged, boldly resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, “You're not bleeding, so you should be fine for a while. We're on our way to Bree-town on important business, would you like to come? Someone outta patch your wound there.”  
The elleth didn't know what to answer. She was in absolute misery, physically and emotionally, and couldn't comprehend foreign ideas adequately. So strange to her she had gone from disoriented to despairing in just a matter of minutes. She felt as though she had gone insane, and she also felt guilty for scaring these poor, ignorant hobbits. They had little idea how to help her, except to transport her to a town of Man.   
The elleth muttered, “I do not know yet. Let me rest, and I'll give you my answer right at dawn.”  
Time had come and gone too quickly for her to comprehend. In a daze from her pain, she lay back onto the hard ground, letting exhaustion take over. Everything went dark quickly, and her eyes clouded over to show for it.   
The elleth found her eyes clear to a darkened sky. She was lying on her back just as she was before. She squinted to see the Moon through the cloudy vapors, a little too sinister in appearance to be called “clouds”, obscuring her view up into the dark, starless ceiling of a sky. She took a moment to observe her new environment; the vapors were hanging low on the ground blanketing a forest floor. It was not the same forest clearing she had stayed in with the halflings. The trees were too wretched, the grass was too shriveled, all of the plant life was dead and decaying. Everything was colorless, various shades of white, black, and gray decorated her vision. Nothing was colorful in this darkness.  
Perhaps most ominous of all was the lingering chill in the air, the dense atmosphere weighing down on her. Even so, she rolled over, and worked herself up. Ironically pain evaded her in this place, she felt nothing in her head and no whirling thoughts plagued her. She was at peace, yet not at peace. No pain, but a chill.   
Shaking from the cold, the elleth worked her way through the thick, gray vegetation, curious to explore this bizarre new world. Nothing changed for quite a distance, the same vegetation, the same sinister vapors. On and on and on she trekked, until she grew bored and the chill seemed dull. The journey was so repetitive the pain she felt now was of disinterest.  
And then, she stopped suddenly with a fright. A misplaced foot. She looked down. Only a few tiny lengths away, a black, bottomless chasm presented itself before her. It did not seem as though it was the answer to an earthquake or other result of a natural disaster. It was a black gaping hole, vague, blurry, and indistinct, with no bottom. It was so strange the elleth realised her whole environment was a figment of her imagination. Her psyche playing with her and using her tortured thoughts against her. This whole thing was only a vision.   
It did not stop there; before the elleth could make another move, perhaps to wake herself up from her self-created nightmare, a baritone, choking voice echoed from the bottom of the pit.   
“Hello?” the elleth grew pale as she cried out for a response, suddenly doubting this was a dream.   
She was a victim in every way possible.   
It was an unintelligable moan of anguish, echoing several times in response to the elleth's cries. The final sequence was about to come. Suddenly, from the depths of the chasm, came a silvery chain which whipped up and wrapped itself around her ankle. Then the elleth screamed a terrible scream of terror, and she was pulled into the pit's depths, immobolized and helpless.   
The elleth woke frightfully. Beads of sweat decorated her forehead; she reached a finger up to her forehead and touched the drops of water stimulated by her nightmare. Racing thoughts about her dream came and went through her mind. What was that voice? Who made it? Was her consciousness calling to her?  
A stupidly absurd question, but it would have made sense for her situation.   
On a lighter note, she had broken from her daze and she thought she could process information more easily now. Her head still stung and throbbed, but it wasn't bleeding; when she felt it, no sticky warm blood touched her finger. It was merely swollen.   
She inclined her head towards the hobbits, who had also awoken. Fresh dawn light filtered through the canopies of the trees, pooling on the forest floor and waking its residents from their slumbers. The halflings were preparing for further travel. As they gathered their provisions and put out their fire, they were chatting about what to do next.   
“Should we really take her with us, Mr. Frodo?” the beige-haired hobbit asked warily.  
“Sam, I thought you would be more enthusiastic about finding an elf,” the black-haired hobbit, evidently the one named 'Frodo', replied with a raised brow.  
“She frightens me, Mr. Frodo,” Sam protested, “The way she's been acting, the way she's been speaking, she's just not like the tales Mr. Bilbo used to tell us.”  
“We found her injured,” Frodo argued, “It's only right we take her with us.”  
“She's not right in the head,” Frodo's companion continued, his stubbornness unrelenting, “I barely got any shut-eye last night from the way I found her staring at nothing! I think that knock on the head has driven her mad!”  
“You remember Uncle Bilbo's stories, Sam,” Frodo explained with deep breaths, trying to keep his composure, “It's natural for elves to sleep with their eyes open.”  
“She still does other strange things.”   
“Sam, this is unlike you.”  
“I don't want you to get hurt, Mr. Frodo!” Sam yelled, sighing and slumping over from his exhaustion trying to defend his claim.  
The elleth thought their argument would become more heated, but Frodo maintained his calm demeanor and laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, just as he had done the night before to calm her.   
“You carry a hefty burden as it is,” Sam sighed, “Bilbo's old treasure is hard enough to carry to Bree undiscovered, especially with those Black Riders Master Gandalf warned us about lurking the roads during the late watches. I'm frightened, Mr Frodo. Frightened for you, myself, the whole Shire!” Sam's distressing rant made his voice grow higher and higher.  
Frodo made a gesture with his hands to silence him, and carried on with a voice akin to a whisper, “I'm frightened too, Sam. More frightened than you could ever know. I am so, ever so grateful you care for my safety. My dear Sam, you have stayed by my side for as long as I can remember. I trust you, but I cannot go on knowing I left someone wounded behind. The guilt would stay on my shoulders forever. At the very least, we will escort her to Bree and make a decision then.”  
Sam smiled and nodded, but the elleth could see still the reluctance and pessimism in his eyes. But she could not find it in her heart to be angry with the hobbit, not when she understood how scared he could have been for their journey ahead. She held heavy sympathy for them. She wished she could undue everything that happened to her prior to her meeting them; they would not have to deal with an extra burden such as herself.   
As a result, guilt settled on her already heavily disturbed conscience, and she sighed, “Master Hobbits, do not let me be a burden on your travel. I do not know exactly what it is you're faring up against, but it should not be made more oppressive by my injury. Please leave me, I can carry on.”  
Frodo glared at her. “I can't do that, my lady,” he pressed, “I'm not going to leave you here suffering, my heart would never allow me to do otherwise. This may be a hasty decision I'm making, but you don't deserve to lay here in misery. We are taking you to Bree, and that is final.”  
The elleth was a little astonished by his sudden change of tone. He had changed from a scared, vulnerable halfling to a loyal, steadfast warrior. She widened her eyes to prove her realization. Perhaps he was deserving of full respect. He was braver and stronger of heart than she perceived him to be initially. His compassion was powerful, and her heart warmed at his generous gesture.   
“Very well,” the elleth muttered finally, smiling genuinely, “I cannot thank you enough, Master Frodo, Master Sam. If those indeed are your names...”  
“Yes, my lady,” Frodo answered with frequent stutters inbetween words, clearly nervous, “But I would prefer you call me Master Underhill, if that is alright... there are suspicious eyes even in the Shire.”  
The elleth's smile dropped into a frown. She felt an unsettling intensity radiate from Frodo once he said the name 'Master Underhill'. It took her back to when Sam had mentioned the 'treasure' belonging to some halfling named 'Bilbo', and how burdensome it was to the duo. She also remembered he mentioned a 'Black Rider'. She had many questions after these thoughts entered her mind; she questioned the hobbits' integrity. What was this 'treasure' they were carrying that was indeed so burdensome? What was this 'Black Rider' they were talking about? Most importantly, what were they hiding?  
She felt a little discouraged travelling with them at point, but she didn't want to argue Frodo's offer of hospitality and she continued with a nod.  
“What shall we call you then?” Sam asked curiously, and a little flirtatiously, “I know you can't remember your true name, but surely calling you 'Lady Elleth' would be very unbecoming to such a creature as yourself.”  
The elleth blushed. Indeed, Sam was very polite when he was feeling optimistic, and his optimism was also infectious. For a moment, she forgot about her fall and her dream and everything ominous that had happened to her. For once, she managed to chuckle a bit.  
“Hmm... let me think about it,” she smiled lightly. After giving herself a moment or two to ponder this, an idea hatched in her mind. “I know, where did you find me?”  
“At the foot of a pine tree, in some bushes,” Sam answered.  
“Okay... how about Thuinel?” she posited, “'Daughter of the pine tree', translated in Sindarin, a form of Elvish.”  
“I like it.”  
“Me too,” Frodo chimed.   
“Very well, then,” Thuinel concluded, “Call me Thuinel, 'daughter of the pine tree'.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the formatting doesn't like me lol. Still trying to figure this out! Hope you enjoyed, and please R&R!


	3. Update

Hey guys!! <3

So I'm back after a miserably LONG hiatus! I've been trying to prep for graduation and study for all my finals! 

I've decided that I'm going to take a different direction with this series, and I will be starting off with the trilogy instead of the prequel. The reason is because I want to get a jump-start on the actual series, and it will be easier to explain things vs. in the prequel. That is the verdict. 

I'm also starting on a Scarlet Vision fanfiction! I will probably post the first chapter late tonight or early tomorrow morning. It'll be called Distance Distortion. And if I have time, I will post the first chapter of Bonan Iaren Book 1: Shades of Vengeance!!

Thanks for your understanding! I promise I will have some stuff up real soon!

Love you all :)


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